Shape of My Heart
by TeamJ.Black
Summary: "We are not allowed to linger, even with what is most intimate." What if his unrequited love was reciprocated? What if it were too late?
1. Chapter 1

His heart was about to pound out of his chest; his ears felt as if someone had lit a match to them; every part of him felt as if it had been hyper sensitized. Calming his breath down, he slowly peaked out of his current hiding place; there were two large, bulky men directly in front of him. He held his breath as they turned around and stared directly at the spot he was out. After seemingly hours, they turned around and, as if someone had called them, ran in the direction he had just come from.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, he deemed it a good time to find another place to hide, in case the two guys came back. After squeezing out of the wall, he hesitated a moment before deciding to go to the one place he knew none of the henchmen could go.

Heading towards the fifth floor, he recollected the events leading up to this situation. It had been a day just like any other: class, homework, D.E meeting…. He'd felt particularly pleased with himself that afternoon: he had finished a rather large chunk of the massive homework he had for the week. Feeling as if he'd deserved some sort of a break for staying put on a Saturday, he headed to go sit out by the lake, despite the rather bleak way. He actually preferred it this way, the less people out the better.

He was not exactly a loner, nor one who particularly enjoys being alone all day on a Saturday, or any day of that matter. No, he quite liked people, most did not like him. With jet black hair that always looked greasy, despite what herbs and potions he put in, hand me down robes, and a rather large nose that genetics had not been too kind to bestow upon him; most shied away from him, figuring him to be some misunderstood kid ready to stalk you if you so showed him any kindness.

Some, however, were more than willing to look past this and get to know him. The rest, however, were in an all but different category. There were a group of four guys, the Marauders, they called themselves, that even the very thought of them provoked the reaction of him balling his fists up. The four of them had managed to take anything and everything worth anything out of his life; particularly his best friend Lily.

Heading down to the lake he took his mind off of them, deciding not to ruin this rare mood he was in. It was then when he saw her, Lily, sitting by a tree deeply intent on a book. He tried not to, but wound up studying her as he unconsciously started towards her. He liked her hair the way it was now: thrown up in a way that looked as if she simply rolled out of bed and headed down here. Though they hadn't been particularly close sense that fatal day when he let slip and called her a mudblood, he was still absolutely certain he was the only one in the whole school, with the exception of her two pesky friends, that knew the real and true her.

Realizing he was just a few yards away from her, he looked cautiously around before finally deciding to approach her. Thinking back to it now, he had no idea what possessed him to do it, although they'd been getting along great, working on their friendship, he now realized that it was not nearly far enough.

He made a point to step on a few branches and twigs, hoping that he wouldn't startle her as much as he would if he'd just walked up and said hi. She, obviously, so engrossed in her book, did not hear his futile attempts, so he gave up all pretenses and tapped her shoulder. She had just the reaction he'd thought she'd have: she jumped a foot in the air, letting out a few choice words on her way up. She then turned around to glare at whoever her attacker was, and, upon finding out it was he, all the fury in her face seeped away. She then smiled and motioned for him to sit down.

As he comfortably rested his back against the tree, she maneuvered from her original spot and sat directly across from him, her legs folded underneath her and her face lit up like a kid on Christmas day.  
"Sev!" She ecstatically shouted at him. It made him break a little on the inside, knowing that despite everything he had done to her, she'd forgiven him. He felt as though he should still be getting the silent treatment, but never said so. He felt as if a hole was stabbed through him whenever he thought of not talking to her again. No, he'd much rather feel guilty and talk to her than feel deserving.

"Lily," he replied back, with not nearly the enthusiasm she had, "What are you doing outside on a day like this?" he had to ask, there was no one besides the two of them within viewing distance.

"Are you kidding? It so cool outside, you know, the way the fog looks on the lake, it's both pretty and eerie; and anyway it sets the tone perfect for the book I'm reading."

He smiled, knowing how fascinated by muggle murder mystery books she was. He never in all his years knowing her understood their appeal. He pointed out to her, several times in fact, that the heroine was nearly almost entirely dimwitted, claiming that if they had even half a brain they would not have gotten themselves in the idiotic situation they were in. She'd always laughed and rolled her eyes at his speculations clearly stating that he obviously hadn't met some of the people this world had to offer.

"Let me guess, the girl decides to be extra brave and sacrifice herself for the good of others?" He teased; glad he was back on good terms with her.

"No," she rolled her eyes, clearly expecting him to reply something like that, "there are actually no damsels in distress in this one, it's more of a jigsaw puzzle, and the people have to use clues and stuff to save themselves."

After that, she had closed her book and stuffed it back into her book sack. From then on they just talked casually and light. They talked about their N.E.W.T.S, to which he'd teased her about her procrastination skills, about the previous challenges, to which they both quickly skirted away from, not wanting to relive the accident that had put her in the hospital wing for three weeks.

It was a pleasant afternoon that continued on onto the sun setting. The Marauders hadn't shown up, nor had anyone from the D.E group he was in. This, he assumed was the reason it happened. Spending the day like this, he felt as if they had somehow traveled back in time. She was 10 and just finding out about her being a witch, and he was 11: she was his whole world. They had just gotten to the topic of best and worst past relationships, talking about the funniest date she'd ever been on, while she tried to coax out of him the most embarrassing one, that he'd let it brought it up.

"Remember second year? When we couldn't leave the castle?" She simply nodded, so he continued, "I'd asked you-"

She interrupted him, "if I wanted to go to the kitchens and get some pumpkin juice!" She started laughing, "You wound up tripping…..I don't remember over what though. All I remember is being soaked from head to toe in the stuff because you insisted you wanted a bigger cup because you were thirsty." 

He decided not to tell her who had actually caused him to trip, "And then we had to try to explain to the Heads as well as everyone who saw us on the way to the common room."

"My face was probably about as red as my hair that day," she sighed, "not fair you changed the subject!"

"Actually I didn't," he let slip out.

She looked at him for a second before it dawned on her, "You considered that a date?"

He laughed at how incredulous and bewildered her face was, "I was twelve and scared to death to try to ask you on an official outing, besides we couldn't much go anywhere, so yes that was my kid version of a date."

The look on her face, he concluded, was what made him say what he did. She had this awed expression, like he had just told her the most amazing thing in history, like he'd just told her how amazing Hogwarts would be. An ache in him made him realize how much he missed those days.

And that's when it happened, when she awestruck quiet, that's when he'd blurted it out, not even thinking about what it meant, nor the consequences that would proceed. It just felt right.

"I miss you." Her face turned quizzical. He elaborated, "I miss us, and I miss what we used to be. When I was eleven and you were my best friend, when our version of a fight was pulling random sticks out of the ground and poking each other with them. You know, a day hasn't gone by that I haven't regretted everything I've ever said to you. Every day I see you, and I wonder if you're thinking about me. It hurts me to realize that you don't see me like that anymore."

"Wh..What do you mean?" She clearly was confused were this was coming from

"I want you to give me another chance… I have fall-"

He couldn't even get the rest of the words out of his mouth, out of the bushes beside him emerged his friends.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here, a blood traitor it seems to me," Lucius, the leader said first, taking out his wand, which was not a good sign. He jumped up, gave an apologetic look to Lily, before darting to the castle as fast as he could. None of them expected him to run, so his five second head start helped give him enough time to leap behind the nearest spot that would conceal him.

Now, giving the password to the portrait, he knew he had two options: give himself to Lucius and the gang and let her go live the life she's built for herself, or go inside the common room, wait for her and selfishly and vainly hope she'd choose him. As he heard heavy footsteps behind him, he knew he only had now to choose. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards his fate, knowing this would change his future forever.

**A.N: So what do you think he'll choose? So you know, while the answer may be obvious, I'm disregarding the HP books completely, and I like Snape, after this I'm probably going to go back to the beginning and explain a lot of the seemingly random things that happened leading up to this, or I may just make this a TwoShot thing, what do you think? **


	2. Chapter 2

10 months earlier…..

'Dom'….'Dom'…. The monotonous melody of the grandfather clock vexed his already hyped up nerves. An eerie silence had been set upon the house, though no spell could be blamed for it. Down the hallway, with its yellow walls setting an ironic contrast with the cobwebs and prodigious piles of dust accumulating on various trinkets, the clock droned on. The resounding 'Dom's provoking an equal reverberating reaction within him; the emotions laid a heavy-weight upon his heart.

Silence again, but only just, not even a second later, a subtle faint noise could be heard. If one was not listening for it, it could be easily overheard, easily ignored. However, as he started at the glistening green and silver banners that hung on the wall opposite him, try as he might, he could not help but focus on that one sound.

The first time he had heard it, so many weeks ago, he was lying in a similar position- back against the all, his long legs folded against his pale chest- and he had been alarmed; unsure of what to make of it, fearful as to what it could be. It had been his second night of summer break; he was still wide awake, trying to master a specific spell he knew would be useful for his seventh year, when the sound broke his focus. As he had listened more intently, a shiver, that had nothing to do with temperature, seemed to spread through him. The sound had made him feel as though someone had filled up his veins with ice water, as though a dementor were nearby. He had shuttered involuntarily before deciding to investigate the sound.

What he saw then, he sorely wished he could take back. To most, it would seem as if she were just tired. There were bags under her eyes, tear-stained as they were; she was pale, sickly pale: as though she hadn't eaten in days, which he had figured was more than likely the case. Only to those who looked not just at her eyes, but into them, would really know what was wrong. Her eyes were empty. There was no shadow of anything, not of pain, not of hope, not of anger; they were just blank, as though she was dead.

His heart had leapt to his throat, he couldn't move, he had been petrified where he stood. For seemingly hours, he had been able to do nothing but stand there and watch. He watched her blank stare, he watched her motionless form, he watched and waited desperately for her to move, to make a sound, to show some sign of life. Suddenly, a sound came out of her mouth, louder and shriller than the one he had heard from the comforts of his bed, he could not imagine how a human could make that sound. It seemed to work as a catalyst though, waking him from his state of shock. From then on he had been on a sort of autopilot.

He had run to the dirty dishes filled sink and had groped for a clean glass. Cutting himself on a shard of something, he had found one and filled it up with his wand; no thought of underage wizardry crossed his mind (though looking back at his actions, he highly doubted they'd arrest him, they more likely would have put him in ). He had scrambled over to the place where in mother was sitting, tripping over the dusty table rug, and had, for reasons he still could not fathom, placed the glass in her hand. With a desperate haste, he had then managed to find anything and everything edible in the house and had put it in front of her. He had sat down and waited… and waited….and waited. As she sat there, almost catatonic aside from the screams that shook her frail frame, he began to cry.

For the first time since puberty, he had cried. He had finally succumbed to the pain. The tears had rolled down his face, cold and refreshing, in stark contrast to the feeling inside. Inside, he was on fire; burning alive, the flame inside seeming to consume his entirety. He had been a burning man, the flames taking everything away: his humanity, his kindness, his naivety, and lastly, the last shred of compassion he felt towards muggles; all of it consumed and warped from the conflagration within.

As he finally had come to, he had silently got up out of his chair, leaving his mother where she was at, and made his way back to his room; where he did nothing except throw himself on the messy bed, full of books, paper scraps, and ink stains, letting sleep take him into a world far away from the agony.

Coming back to the present, he realized he had fallen asleep. It was not the first time he'd had that dream, and he figured it certainly wouldn't be the last. Numbly, he rolled over and retrieved the book he kept under his mattress. After some tugging, he finally had removed it from its hiding spot. He rolled back over, propped himself up against the wall behind the head of his bed, and made himself comfortable, knowing he would not be able to go back to sleep. After the fifth or sixth night he'd had that dream, he had learned not to fall asleep again, for the nightmares he had, nightmares of his father, always evaded him.

Pushing those thoughts away, he opened the book to the first page where a picture of a young girl with vibrant red hair and striking green eyes greeted him. It was his picture book that he'd had since age ten, when his mother first gave it to him, along with a muggle camera and instructions on how to develop the pictures. It had taken her months at her muggle job to save up for this, but she had known he had wanted it dearly ever since he met that fiery red head. It pained him to remember the shadow of what she once was, a woman full of compassion, full of love, for her son. As much as it pained him though, it also fueled him; fueled his anger, his drive to avenge, his determination to seeing her recovery.

He smiled at the memory and flipped the page. This time he saw himself, only much younger, with eyes so full of life. Their arms were both around the other's shoulders; their smiles mimicked one another's in a full teeth smile. Hers', however, differed from his slightly: she was missing one of her front teeth. Both looked sweaty and exhausted. As he remembered this picture from the day before they both left for Hogwarts, he felt warmth spread throughout himself.

Flipping through the pages, taking in all the happiness and warmth the photos had to offer, had become something he did almost every night. After witnessing his mother's silent agony that fatal night, he had been numb for weeks. He had found himself unable to eat, unable to sleep, unable to think; just going through the motions of trying to coax his mother into making some progress towards recovery. After the second straight week of this monotony, he had finally crashed on his bed, tired from the sleepless nights. He had heard something hit the ground with a loud thump and decided to at least see if it were something of any importance before he succumbed to the blackness of sleep. Seeing the front cover brought back a tidal of emotions, and for the first time since he had come back home, he smiled, a true, genuine smile.

As he reached the last pages of the book, he closed it. Not looking at the last two pictures the book had to offer. He hadn't looked at those last two pictures since the week after they were taken, and he did not plan to, not now, not ever. He knew that in doing so, it would open a whole new chapter of pain, one that he had managed to, in the months immediately after the incident, shut away.

Sighing, he got up and turned his desk top fan on, drowning out shrill sounds coming down the ironically bright hallway. As he slowly drifted into a sleep of sorts, he felt one last knife of pain pierce him – he was returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, he was going to see Lily tomorrow. Worse, he was going to see Lily with _him._

** A.N. Thank you for your reviews, and for reading this, I know it's a bit sad now, but it'll cheer up soon, so please stay with me. What'd you think of it? Bad grammar or spelling? I want to know, so I can get better. Thank you! **


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